Bother Me With Specifics
by skrewtkeeper
Summary: Minerva finds a goodbye too distressing to face, until Albus smothers her with wisdom...and love. MMAD.


**A/N:** _I really have nothing to say... This wasn't going to be MMAD; it wasn't. But I had to, you understand? I...I lost control. =_= Minerva's POV. Also might not be finished and that kinda makes me anxious, posting this prematurely before I have the next bit written. *bites nails nervously* The title, strangely enough, has to do with Albus, him encouraging Minerva to 'bother him with specifics' if that makes sense...? Yeah, maybe not. Gah, I ALWAYS forget to do this, but **THANK YOU** PreconceivedNotions for looking at this for me and providing the reassurance I craved. I am eternally in your debt! Well... not really. :D *Disapparates*_

"I'm sorry it's been a while, but…I—"

I can't continue as I look into his old sad eyes; always so old, always so sad when I am. I don't want to accept the circumstances anymore…it really wasn't fair for me or anyone.

"There's no need for apologies," he says kindly and beckons me forward. Despite everything I know about him, I still shuffle self-consciously toward the place he gestures me. I don't want…I don't—

He pats the seat beside him as I continue to stand there without saying anything.

I amble forward, nearly tripping on an expensive-looking rug before I finally find my seat; and look straight at the floor, not wanting to meet his eyes. I'm trying to remember why I thought it was such a good idea to come in the first place.

"What seems to be troubling you tonight, my dear?" he asks as he fumbles with a second cup of tea and just the words have my eyes filling up with tears. I don't want to say anything… not ever again.

"Just…" I choke and try again and end up blurting, "I don't want to…to lose anybody." I manage.

The spoon clatters on the floor as it slips from his fingers; I wince at the sound. Someone so composed affected by what I said—I was right all along. I never should have come.

I stand to leave, but his hand clasps around my wrist. "You can tell me," he breathes.

I burst into tears. Our conversation wasn't supposed to go this way…I was merely going to acknowledge to him that I wasn't faring well at the moment and hope he would offer me the comfort I needed with whatever words he could conjure. He pulls me toward him gently, almost as though he's certain I'm going to resist, but I no longer have the fight in me. I just want to curl up into a ball and sleep for a very long time…

"What do you fear?" he finally asks when I'm taking shuddering gasps, trying to control my tears.

"Ev—Everything," I whisper, so full of despair I wonder if he can hear it. He must be able to because the embrace immediately surrounds me further, fully becoming protective in nature. I take a deep breath and sigh—it does feel much better with arms around me, even though his arms aren't mine to take control of in this fashion. They belonged to only him and I shouldn't find myself so wound up that he cared enough to touch me…but I was. And I hated myself for it.

"Surely my dear," he begins, holding me away from him a moment to look into my face…and he wipes the tears away with the tips of his fingers, never stopping even though the action only serves to produce more. "You were sorted into Gryffindor; you can't fear _all_."

"Unfortunately, Albus," I snap back suddenly irritated at him and also myself, for behaving in this way, "Bravery is not the same as fearlessness."

He nods, understanding—of course, he is always understanding. "Indeed," he replies softly, "but surely bravery has greater strength than fear…"

"If it does not serve the bearer of it well, what use is it?" I answer tiredly. "Too long have I been troubled by this, Albus. Surely a fear would have taken a mortal blow by its worthy oppressor bravery by now… Why must it persist?"

"You need a better sword, Minerva," he retorts and I can hear the smile in his voice. I'm annoyed again and try to push him away; now he persists and holds me tighter. "Or perhaps a fleet to reckon it with."

"What if the fleet—" I break off, trying to shove him away again, but it's useless, "—is not willing?"

He pauses and I shove him again. He releases. "Have you yet spoken to said fleet?" he inquires, looking at me expectantly. "To combat fear, there are many a willing party…"

I groan as I look away and begin massaging my brow with one of my hands. I watch his shadow on the floor and view his hands poised directly beside me, as though he's now restraining himself from touching me. I wish he wouldn't. "How do you know me so well?" I groan.

"You speak to no one," he says quietly and I'm surprised to hear a tang of bitterness to his voice. "Nay, an army cannot travel far without a leader to guide it."

I frown. "You quoted that from somewhere."

"No, I made it up." He shocks me by taking my other hand in both of his own. The action demands me to turn and face him which I do. "Merlin above Minerva… _tell me_. What frightens you so?"

His voice hurts me now. I cringe and make an attempt to look at anywhere but him, but one hand finds my face and he turns it toward him. "Don't lock yourself away," he murmurs softly and if I did not have any doubts about my feelings being returned, I would have believed he was inches from kissing me. But the moment passed and I was left standing alone in the darkness once more.

"I already _said_," I wheeze, the tears returning with a vengeance. "I fear…losing people. _Specific_ people, Albus. Not just…not just anybody."

He says nothing and patiently waits for me to elaborate, even as the minutes pass and creep their way into dozens. On occasion, our eyes meet, but his gaze is always soft, forgiving. I cannot bear to see it.

At the third time they have met, I drop my eyes to my lap and do not look up again. I inhale heavily, knowing this is going to be a difficult thing to relate and say in a falsetto voice that does not resemble my own, "I have a friend, Albus—" I break off, clearing my throat, hoping beyond hopes that I do not cry again, but fate is not so kind. Why I can't help myself from crying in front of him I do not know. Maybe it's because these are things I should share to someone close to me; someone who also warms my bed at night—but there is no one. No one has remained for half as long as he. Albus had never been a part of my life like that; he had only ever been one of my friends…but even he had not seen me cry this much over something seemingly so small. I couldn't stop because he would _never_ reach that status and it wasn't because of me…I doubted he even knew, but I balked at telling him I loved him, forcing him into a corner like that when I was sure he did not feel the same romantic love for me.

"I have a friend, Albus," I whisper, realizing the tears lacked their original bite if I confessed this quietly. "She's old Albus, very old… and I—I can't—" I break off, overcome once more.

Wordlessly, he presses me to him again, but this time I find relief. I sigh heavily as he works his magic with his strokes and then I realize it; he's threading a calming charm to his strokes. The calm seems to seep into my bones, my blood, my breath—it's there all of it in the very core of my being. Despite myself I almost want to cry again—not for the fate which faces me now, but for how much I love the man. How I wish…

"I understand Minerva," he croons tenderly, causing another part of me to ache in earnest. "Is she unwell at present?"

I frown. "No, she's…she's doing far better than she was. That's precisely the problem, Albus. She's fine but considers herself to be unwell. It is most disheartening—I certainly don't like to see her like this; all of the healers have said she has a fair prognosis considering her age so long as she keeps her mind and body busy. Yet, she only seems convinced of her mortality, how little time she has left. It's like she's already gone. I can barely stand to see her anymore for that's all she speaks of whenever I visit. She's right there in front of me and I already miss her!"

He curls and uncurls a flyaway strand of my hair between his fingers as he considers what to say. Eventually he sighs and I relish in the feeling of it. "Minerva, have you ever considered _why_ she may be talking about this? I would conclude that despite her 'acceptance' of her mortality, she is very frightened indeed. Death is so often a lonely journey Minerva; she may not even be aware of the hurt she is causing you. Have you confided in her?"

I bite my bottom lip. "I have told her she should not speak that way, even scolded her…but, that does not make the fact nor the fear go away, does it?"

I feel him shaking his head beside mine. "Unfortunately, it does not. I believe this is merely a matter of misunderstanding, of the both of you speaking a language the other does not quite understand. She is frightened: therefore, all she wants is to talk about the possibility of departure when there's been no solid evidence given about what lies ahead. I do not believe the soul entirely ceases to exist—it seems a great tragedy if it did, but that does not change her fears nor your own; she needs to discuss the possibility of it happening one day. And you must stop turning away from the inevitable. I know it may not seem sincere coming from another, but death is something we all must face. That is why I find it so important to live today as if it were my last, for one is never fully aware of his demise. Indeed, the human body is self-preserving; it will continue to attempt to exist for as long as it is able, but the sun cannot shine forever my dear. At some time, it must set, but what matters is the time spent to get there, how much attention was paid to those who matter. If you were there for this woman when no one else was, well, she will find her passing far easier to face."

I'm crying again, but I can barely understand why. Perhaps because he had just said one of the most beautiful things I had ever heard; perhaps it was because I loved him; perhaps it was because everything he said resonated with truth—that I needed Gwen and I was scared of the possibility of one day letting her go. But because we were both so frightened, neither of us was enjoying the other's company anymore. How foolish we had been! It was surely a crime that needed to be rectified, a sin that needed to be forgiven, but it would wait at least for tonight. I wasn't going to see her like this.

"Shh, Minerva," Albus soothes gently, rubbing my back again. "There's no need to cry. She has not yet gone! I would consider her _very_ lucky to have a friend like you; you are very caring and your actions are directed by a heart that loves very deeply—I find even myself very lucky to have a friend like you."

My eyes are filling as I pull away from him, chilled by the sudden loss of his body heat. Albus murmurs a spell and a blanket soars to his waiting hands and he carefully drapes it over me, taking my hand that's closest to him in his and strokes his thumb over it as I attempt to stem the flow of tears. How can he believe all of this of _me_? Prim and proper McGonagall—I've heard the students and the staff talking, mainly those who don't approve of my 'excessive' sternness. How could Albus peer beneath the surface layer and see these things? Was I _that_ readable to him? Of course. Nothing escapes the attention of Albus Dumbledore.

I sigh bitterly, but I can't help but pose the question, something deep within me _needing_ to hear his answer. "How can you—" I choke, but continue determinedly, "How can you see these things, Albus? I'm merely a professor at this school…how can I—?"

"Minerva you should never merely define yourself by your accomplishments (even though you have many more you have not mentioned). With this approach, you are always to fall short of even your own expectations. No, I find it a source of intrigue—a game, if you will—to discover attributes people have that they are unaware they possess. It is largely useful when people come to me for advice or encouragement, but with all of this information I have gathered, I am always struck by the keen need that most everyone feels to love an d be loved by others. And there are many different ways people love, Minerva. For example, you are very selective about who receives your love, for reasons I am uncertain I will ever know. Nevertheless, once someone has your love, it is almost impossible to remove; it remains unshakeable even when one acts foolishly or when one does not deserve it. It is very fierce, reminiscent of the lion which Gryffindor bears mascot, but also exceedingly gentle and giving as all love is in the end. It is a love largely becoming rarer as time goes on—a coveted type of love and as such, _should_ be protected as you have many times demonstrated because it is unconditional." He pauses and I'm crying again, beyond all power of speech.

"I _know_ you love me, Minerva," he says tremulously, almost heavily and though everything is screaming at me to turn and face him again, I can't. He sounds so pained and I know what's coming. "I'm only afraid I'm not what you see."

I rapidly turn to face him, my heartache forgotten as this was not what I was expecting and I gasp at the sadness in his gaze; his sorrow is even keener than it was when I walked into the room. He weeps silently and it shocks the tears out of me—as always when I'm faced with tears I become indulgent. I wipe his tears with my fingers and I'm startled when more appear. The greatest wizard of our time, and he weeps alone. I had never before seen him cry until tonight. "What do you think I see, Albus?" I ask softly, anxious to avoid any further tears. I'm not sure if I can handle them. I shock myself by wondering if he felt the same way about me…

"I have made many mistakes in my life. My record is not clean…"

I shake my head, my voice still soft and my hand on his cheek as I interrupt him, "I never ask for perfection, Albus. I only ask for love in return—in whatever capacity you can give it. If we remain as friends, so be it. Merlin, I was never even going to tell you! How long have you known?"

He smiles a little and removes my hand poised on his cheek and kisses it. "Since tonight actually… You speaking of your friend, how earnest you were—" he too moves his head back and forth as if in amazement, "—it was more of a guess and a source of inspiration to speak up tonight. I apologize my declaration was not more creative. There are thousands of other things I could have done…"

I laugh at his grief. "You _are_ insane then Albus. That was the most creative way of admitting…the most romantic thing I've ever—"

"I love you Minerva," he interrupts deeply and again kisses the hand he clasps before moving closer. I am thrilled as he says it. "To have your love is truly an exquisite thing. I find myself most fortunate… it is simply marvelous."

He holds me close and sets his chin on the top of my head. My ear rests on his chest and beard and I can hear his magic thrum beside his heartbeat. "And I love you Albus," I say softly.

**Ƹ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄Ʒ**

It is hardly a month later when I receive the signal I had been half-hoping I'd never see. We had devised a communication of sorts, Gwen and I, after I had spoken to her on Albus's insistence. And now the time was meet to see her off. I still didn't want to, but I gathered my things with a practiced haste, not fully aware of how long I was going to stay…

I stopped by the Headmaster's quarters—it was nearly one in the morning on a Saturday and I was in my nightgown, a self-warming cloak draped haphazardly over my figure with a carpet bag in one hand. He was already awake and seemed to know exactly where I was going.

"How long shall you be?" he asks quietly, and I wonder at his gentleness. It hasn't been long since we've been courting, but I'm still shell-shocked to find he cares so much about me.

I frown, inhaling deeply. "There's no telling with this sort of thing. I know she has a mediwitch with her and I received the Patronus… It didn't say anything, but I know it was from her—"

"Go Minerva," he urges, touching my shoulders. "I'll cover your classes for you should you have the need…"

"I don't think it will be _that_ long but I—" suddenly, a thought occurs to me. "Come with me."

"One never does know," Albus continues, seeming to not have heard me, "she could hold on until Mon—_What?_"

"Come with me," I repeat, suddenly sure of myself. "She would want to meet you. She would _love_ to meet you… I—" I quickly become shy and hesitant but press on despite the blush, "I've told her all about you."

He raises his eyebrows and we stand there in silence for a moment. Finally, he says, "No stories about how I accidentally turned my beard and hair pink with that new shampoo?"

I snicker. "No, just mostly…mostly how I felt. Albus, she encouraged me to speak up and tell you but I never did, thinking I knew better. She would be glad to know that she was right—it might give her more peace about leaving."

He nods again with a smile and after he dons his own cloak, he takes my empty hand in his. Even though it's dark, cold, and snowy, we make our way outside toward the Apparation point. Save for the occasional noise in the corridors, Albus does not let go of me and neither do I let go of him.


End file.
